Disguise is a self portrait
by VexandRue
Summary: Post The empty hearse- Following Sherlocks return, he attempts to solve a case, with Donovan, Lestrade and John all following alone. But what will be revealed? What secrets has Sherlock been hiding beneath that arrogant persona? And what exactly happened to him in those two years? Mentions of torture and Serbia.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! Um so this is set after the events of 'The Empty Hearse.' I always felt Sherlock didn't get enough recognition for what he went through, so this is just a little fic I made.**

**Please read and review! I hope to update soon! Thank you :)**

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Sherlock ducked under the warning tape and waltzed onto the crime scene, with John following closely behind. It had been just under a month since Sherlocks return, when he had shocked John and Mary at the restaurant, and faced the wrath of John's fist.  
Ever since then, the two of them had slowly been building up a good relationship again, however it looked like things would never be exactly the way they were before. Sherlock had caused John too much pain. He lived with Mary now and although he still came on the occasional investigation with Sherlock, he spent most of his time with her.

Donovan stood staring at the two of them angrily, as Sherlock confidently made his way towards the house, with John following behind like a loyal puppy. At least, that's the way Donovan used to think of him. Now, she wasn't so sure. By now, all of Scotland Yard had heard- and taken great delight- that Sherlock had been battered about quite a bit that night he played a trick on John at the restaurant. Nothing serious, just a knock to the ground and a bloody nose, but certainly enough to cause him a bit of discomfort. And hopefully knock his ego.

Donovan knew that John was still very angry with Sherlock, and that he was walking on a type rope now that he was back. And quite frankly, Donovan wouldn't put it past John to give Sherlock another thump if he annoyed him anymore. She wouldn't even mind. Yes, she had had to admit she was wrong in accusing Sherlock before his fall-or more accurately, his jump- but it didn't change the fact that the man was downright rude to everyone he met and got off on crime scenes.

So, with all of these thoughts running through her head, it was no surprise when Sherlock walked up to her, the words "What do you want?" were out of her mouth before she could stop them.  
In response, Sherlock flashed his usual cocky grin at her. "Lestrade invited me." He said, "Now, if you don't mind moving, I'll just head on in and solve the case, since I doubt any of you have any hope of working it out."  
Sally grinned. "I don't see Lestrade here, do you?" She said sweetly. "And without him here to confirm you're not just some vigilante wanted access to a police investigation, I can't let you in."  
Sherlock opened his mouth, a hint of anger appearing on his normally carefully neutral features, and was about to respond when Lestrade walked up behind them. "Donovan, you know as well as I do that we need Sherlock here. You know what the last two years have been like. Now, let him past."  
Sally glared at the three of them, then whirled around and entered the house. "Fine," she called back. "But if he's going, I am too."

The three of them entered the first room, where a table was laid out with blue suits, similar to the ones John and Lestrade had had to wear at a crime scene in a study in pink. John, Sally and Lestrade all put their suits on. Sally then turned and stared pointedly at Sherlock. "You need to put one of these on," she stated.

Sherlock's mouth tilted slightly upwards at the corners, a hint of a smile forming. Then he waltzed past them into the next room, ignoring Sally's screeches that he'll contaminate the evidence.  
Sally, John and Lestrade entered the next room, to find Sherlock examining a wall with a miniature microscope. "No one from the Yard has investigated here yet?" He asked, sounding slightly surprised. "Normally they've contaminated the scene before I get here, giving me extra unnecessary work."

"I told them to wait outside," explained Lestrade.

Sherlock nodded approvingly. "You're improving." Then turning his attention back to the wall, he began to walk around the room, gently dragging his hands across parts of the wall. Then he examined the splatters of blood on the ground, all leading towards the next room over.

"If you're quite done here," started Sally, "shall we move on. There's nothing to see in here, and there's a chance we may find the body of the victim if we follow the trail."

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, not looking up from what he was doing. "The trails a fake," he muttered, staring intently into his microscope.

"What?" Demanded Sally.

Sherlock ignored her and proceeded with his work. After a few moments of silence, his eyes widened and he straightened up. "No, " he muttered, a peculiar mixture of alarm and excitement in his tone. "Surely not!"

"What is it?" Asked John, curiosity getting the better of him. He had forgotten how much Sherlock on a crime scene fascinated him.

Sherlock whirled to face them. "If this were a one off murder, the murderer would have simply committed the act, disposed of the weapon and attempted to dispose of the body. There would have been complications with getting rid of the evidence, but we've already seen that this man is an expert from his fake trai-"

"Yes but how do you know it's fake?" Interrupted Sally.

Sherlock turned to looking at her, giving his trademark, 'What is it like in your funny little brain stare.' "Well, looking at the correlation of the blood on the ground and the even distribution, along with the shape and thickness of the smear marks, it's evident a man with gloves planted them their."

At Sally's continued blank stare, Sherlock sighed and stepped towards her. "Come on,it's not rocket science. They're not even hugely noticeable. They weren't drops of blood from someone being dragged out of the room, they're not thick enough for that and they're too inconsistent. They were rubbed into the ground by a hand with a pair of gloves on. "

"But how do you-"

"How do I know about the gloves?" Enquired Sherlock. "Please. A man this smart, a murder so blatant. Of course he would be using gloves. Now, as I was saying. There would have been complications getting rid of the evidence had this been a simply murder. This wasn't murder. However, given the stains on the walls, there was definitely some fight that went on in here. Impossible to say the exact nature, however given the location of this place and the scuff marks on the ground from shoes, I would say they were drunk. Now, a man who was drunk and still clever enough to leave a trail? Must have had experience. So my question is, why plant a false trail anyway? Where did the actual body go?"

"Uh..."began Sally.

"Wait! No!" Shouted Sherlock. "Don't move!" He immediately began pacing the room, his words coming out at a speed the other three couldn't keep up with. Then, after a moment more of scanning the walls, his eyes widened, he shouted 'of course!' And flicked a small switch hidden behind a panel in the wall.  
Suddenly, part of the floor receded, leading down to a pair of dank stone steps. Sally, John and Lestrade stared in shock at Sherlock. He simply stared at the new hole in the ground, a feverish excitement on his face, and started down the steps. Sally rolled her eyes and followed the others down.

As soon as the four of them got inside, the door shut behind them. Sherlock turned and ran his hands along it. It appears to only open from the outside, he muttered slowly. We'll need to wait for the recovery team to let us out.

They were beginning to near the bottom, when Sally noticed how cold it had gotten. The blue suits really didn't do much in terms of insulation. She looked jealously and bitterly at the consulting detective, wrapped up snugly in his suit jacket and coat and scarf.  
Her thoughts were thrown off course however, as the four of them reached the bottom and found a man with thick chains around his arms. He didn't appear to have any major injuries, except on his head. Sally guessed that was how he was knocked unconscious before he was dragged down here. She then realised that he was only wearing an old pair of jeans. His shirt was gone. He was shivering like a controller on vibrate.  
Sally gasped and hurried forward, just as John and Lestrade did. As Lestrade got out his phone to demand back up with tools to get the man released, Sally and John knelt beside him.

"Sally, get him warmed up," John muttered, as he began to examine his head.

Sally nodded, looking around. She couldn't very well give him any of her clothes, all she was wearing was a blue jumpsuit. The same applied for Lestrade and John.

"Sherlock," she said. Immediately the consulting detective turned to look at her, abandoning his position examining the walls of the small room. "Yes?" He enquired.

"Give me your coat," she said. "He's freezing."

Sherlock nodded and handed her his coat and scarf with only the slightest hesitation. He was left standing in his suit, still having his suit jacket to keep him warm as Sally wrapped his usual attire around the shivering man.

"It's not enough!" She muttered, a slight tinge of panic in her voice. "The recovery men won't be here to get us all out for ages, they don't have the correct tools to open his chains yet, and they won't know how to get here without listening to your instruction. Here, give me your suit jacket as well."

Sherlock stepped back at this, a slight widening of his eyes giving away his panic. "Sherlock, what are you doing?" Said Donovan impatiently. "Just give me your jacket!"

At this, both Lestrade and John had turned to stare at Sherlock. "Sherlock, stop being a selfish bastard. Give her it," said John.

Sherlock blinked, took a breath and buttoned his suit jacket, then took it off his shoulders in one quick movement, that actually appeared rather stiff to John. He then handed it to Donovan and was rapidly walking back around the corner to the small staircase to wait, when Lestrade stopped him.

"Hey Sherlock, what's that?" He said curiously.

"While I am well aware accurate communication does not come naturally to you, you are I'm fact going to have to elaborate." Said Sherlock calmly, and yet John couldn't help noticing a slight edge in Sherlock's voice.

"Step into the light a second, Sherlock."

"Why," he responded plainly.

"Just do it Sherlock," John said, joining Lestrade in his curiosity.

Sherlock took a audible breath and stepped forward, his arms crossed over his chest. "Problem?" He demanded condescendingly.

"Move your hands," said Sally impatiently, who had by this stage taken an interest as well. There was nothing more they could do for the other man while they waited, so their attention was firmly focused on Sherlock.

Slowly Sherlock moved his hands down to his side, revealing quite a number of red specks on his white shirt.

"What's that?" Asked John sharply.

"Nothing,' muttered Sherlock quickly. "Nothing of consequence. Must have just been some blood from the walls upstairs that rubbed off on me."

John slowly nodded, but then stopped and frowned. "That blood was dried. Here let me see that."

Sherlock quickly took a step back. "It's nothing, don't be ridiculous John. It's merely a small spot or two of blood. I probably just got a slight graze on the wall."

John nodded reluctantly agreeing with Sherlock. It probably was just a fresh cut if it was appearing on his shirt. He was probably telling the truth.

Sherlock then took a step back, edging around to the stairs, when Sally grabbed his shoulder and turned him, attempting to ask what his problem was for being so slow to give up his jacket. In doing so, his back was exposed for a moment.

Sally stopped and stared, then whirled him around to see his whole back. The white shirt was covered in red, so much so that you could barely even see the white parts of the shirt.

"Sherlock, what on earth is tha-" she began to exclaim, but Sherlock interrupted her, shouting "I told you it's not important."

John and Lestrade were just about to demand answers from him as well, but at that moment the door at the top of the stairs opened, and Sherlock dived out like a shot, ignoring the shouts of Lestrade, Sally and John.


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys! So, I am extremely sorry I haven't updated for so long. I'd love to say I have an excuse, but I don't really. Anyway this is a pretty short, rubbish chapter, but it's just to give you something to show I will update this while I get the next chapter sorted. And don't worry, the next one will be longer and will be the confrontation!

Thank you so much for reading this fic and for all the reviews! I will update as soon as possible and I'm really sorry once again!

It was at least another hour before Greg, Sally and John were able to extract themselves from the persistent crowd of medical examiners, police and forensic experts and have a chance to talk to each other about what they had seen.

"Did you mention his back in your statement?" John asked as they headed out of the house into the cool air.

"Course not," Greg said straight away, as Sally nodded in agreement. "We're not total idiots."

John nodded and was just about to speak again when Sally interrupted. "John, what the hell was that?"

John looked up from the ground and glanced at her, his hands resting in his jacket pockets and an angry and lost look on his face. "I don't know," he said quietly.

"What?" Sally asked immediately, surprised by his response.

"I don't bloody know," John replied in a louder voice. "I...I've never seen that before."

Even Greg frowned in confusion now. "But you used to live with him. And you're always over at his flat. How could you not have seen it."

John frowned. "It could have happened after his...um..return. I've lived with Mary since then. And...well...I haven't been to his flat as often as you'd think since then," he admitted awkwardly.

"How many times have you been?" Lestrade asked curiously.

"Well...two or three times, I suppose," John admitted reluctantly.

"What?" Greg exclaimed, looking shocked. "But you're best friends!"

"Yeah, well then he went and jumped off a bloody building, didn't he. I wasn't exactly gonna be best buddies with him after that." John said angrily. "Then he waltzed into that stupid restaurant, thinking he could just walk back into my life and...oh."

"Oh?" Sally said. "What's oh?"

John frowned, guilt starting to seep into his thoughts. "Well, I'm sure you heard I knock him over in the restaurant. But it couldn't have been hard enough to do that to him!"

Lestrade frowned. "No, you're right. It couldn't have been. But you've been at his flat since then. Haven't you noticed anything unusual?"

"Like what, Greg?" John sighed. "It's Sherlock. He's not exactly the type to care about looking after himself. I don't think he even owns a first aid kit. And come to think of it, he always had his suit jacket on the few times I was over recently."

"Maybe it's nothing bad," Sally suggested. "I mean, it's the freak! The guy who pretends to be dead for 3 years and gives us no reason whatsoever while he goes and has fun running about the place getting off on solving crimes! Maybe he just got a cut on his back during a recent crime!"

"Maybe," John muttered. "But he's been keeping a lot from us recently, and I think it's time we know what. We've let him get away with it for a long time now, but I'll be damned if I don't find out exactly why he jumped, what he was doing for those two years, and what's wrong with his back and why he didn't tell us."

Greg and Sally nodded in agreement. It was time they got some answers.


	3. Chapter 3

Ok guys, as promised, here's something a bit longer. I know this was originally meant to be about them discovering Sherlocks suffering in Serbia, but I decided I wanted them to go through the whole trainwreck of discovery,right from why Sherlock jumped. But don't worry, I'll get to the bit about his back soon!

Once again, I'm so sorry I haven't updated for so long! I haven't been on my email for a while, and it took some reviews when I was on my email to remind me about this! So I'm sorry but I'll try and update it more often from now on!

I hope you enjoy! I will attempt to update soon! Thanks a million for the reviews and support and I apologise once again!

Not bothering to knock, John got out the key he still owned and walked in the door of the 221 flats, with Lestrade and Donovan following. After saying a brief hello to Mrs Hudson and confirming Sherlock was in fact upstairs, the trio headed up the stairs and once again entered without knocking.

Stepping into the oddly familiar and yet foreign flat, John looked around at the empty room. Everything was as he remembered it. The skull still sat on the mantelpiece, the table was cluttered with papers and the violin was in its case. Walking forward, John saw the kitchen was piled high with experiments, though not as high as the sink, which looked like it couldn't hold anymore dishes if it tried.

Everything seemed like before, and yet John began to notice more differences as he looked around. The place was definitely messier than when he had occupied the flat with Sherlock. John assumed any cleaning that had been done recently was the work of Mrs Hudson, who probably hoped to keep the place at the very least habitable, for Sherlock.

The walls had papers and pictures all over them, clearing relating to cases Sherlock was preoccupied with. John frowned. Sherlock never mentioned them. Glancing back, John saw that Lestrade didn't recognise them either. Odd. They must have been from Mycroft then.

John was just about to comment on how strange this was when Sherlock whirled round the corner, clearing having come down the stairs from his room.

"What, pray tell, are you doing here?" He demanded immediately his calculating eyes taking in the three of them, suddenly nervous and fidgeting before him.

John took a breath and stepped forward. "We're here because we want answers."

There was a silence for a moment as Sherlock raised his eyebrows and stared at each of them in turn. Eventually he stepped further into the room and lifted his violin. "In regard to what questions?" He asked.

"Why don't you sit down," Lestrade began, but was interrupted by music from Sherlocks violin filling the room.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade exclaimed exasperatedly, but Sherlock took no notice as he continued.

Sally shrugged and appeared ready to give up and leave, and John stepped forward and put his hand on Sherlocks shoulder. He didn't miss the fact that Sherlock was once again wearing a suit jacket, even though the one from the case this morning was still with the yard. "Sherlock William Scott Holmes," he shouted. "If you don't put that bloody violin down this instance, I'll..."

"You'll what?" Asked Sherlock quietly, turning to look at John. "Beat me up again?" He asked harshly.

At this, John took a shocked step back, as Sally and Lestrade exhaled sharply. Even Sherlock looked slightly surprised with himself, if his widened eyes were any indication.

Then seeming to harden himself again, "As you are aware, I am a very busy man, so would you all please leave." He said coldly.

At this, John went and coolly took a seat, motioning for the two yarders to do the same. Once the three of them were seated, John looked up expectantly at Sherlock. "We want answers," he said. "We aren't leaving until we get them."

After holding eye contact with John for a moment, seemingly trying to judge how much truth his statement held, Sherlock gently set his violin down and then stood in front of them.

John knew better than to offer him a seat. He clearly wasn't in the mood for a heart to heart. John opened his mouth, prepared to give a bit of a speech, but was interrupted by Sherlock once again.

"First question?"

John turned to stare at the other too, who looked back with a bit of wariness in their eyes. Seeing they weren't going to speak up, John decided to start from the beginning.

"Why?" He asked plainly.

"Why what?" Sherlock demanded, his eyes boring into Johns with a none too gentle stare.

"Why," John questioned angrily, "did you jump off of St Bart's and leave us all thinking you were dead while you went off gallivanting around the world solving crimes and having fun?"

Sherlock remained impassive. "I told you, Moriarty had to be stopped."

"Yes, but why did you jump off that bloody building! In what way could that possibly have stopped him!" John said loudly, his anger rising.

"It's of no consequence," Sherlock stated, attempting to brush the matter away.

John took a few breaths to settle himself, while Donovan and Lestrade nervously watched the events playing out before them.

"Why did you do it," John said quietly. "I've put up with a whole lot of crap with you Sherlock, and if I don't start getting some straight answers from you, I'm gonna walk out of your life and stay out of it. I can't keep putting up with this."

Sherlock was quite for a moment, clearly considering his options. Eventually he murmured, "Moriarty left me little choice."

"Elaborate," said John.

Sherlock sighed. "Really, John, this is beyond prepos-"

"Just do it!" John yelled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but Lestrade could see he was clearly uncomfortable. "Moriarty told me that if I didn't jump he would destroy things of considerable importance to me," he said eventually, in a deadpan voice.

"My goodness, what could be important enough for you to jump, freak," Donovan started. "Your violin and skull? You probably jumped so you could have your two years of fun around the world."

"Yes, something like that" Sherlock said emotionlessly.

"That's preposterous?" Asked Lestrade, confusion clear in his voice.

"Does any of this really matter?" Sherlock said exasperatedly. "It was something I cared about, so I jumped. Nothing to do with any of you."

At this, there was a moment of silence, as three people tried to process what they has just heard, and one defensively stood opposite them.

"Of course it's to do with us. We've lived through the consequences." Lestrade eventually managed to say.

Sherlock sighed and spoke quickly, wanting it off his chest now they had started this stupid and unnecessarily dramatic conversation. "Moriarty had everything planned out. He planted that seed of doubt in your heads so that by the time I was on that roof, I was discredited and a fake. He planned for me to die on that rooftop with no one ever understanding why-naturally I prepared for that eventuality with a recording- but yes, no one ever understanding why I took my life. They would think I'd just not been able to handle the 'truth' about me coming ou-"

"Wait a minute Sherlock!" John interrupted. "You aren't making any sense. And what recording?"

Sherlock frowned. He hadn't realised he had mentioned the recording. That was a rather unfortunate slip of the tongue. "Nothing important, forget I said that. All you need to know, is it was my choice to jump. Now, shall we move on to your next question?"

"Sherlock, what recording?" John said sharply. "I want to see it."

Sherlock was about to brush the matter aside, when John who had stood up to look around, spied Sherlocks phone and made a grab for it before he could. Before Sherlock could stop him, John was connecting his phone to the TV and searching through the recordings.

"John this is ridiculous. We have better things to do than this!"

Sherlock was completely ignored, as the black tv screen lit up, and three pairs of eyes turned to watch while one looked away, as 'Stayin' alive' started playing through the TV speakers.


End file.
